


car radio

by canonjohnlock



Series: vessel [1]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Car Radio, Drabble, Freeform, One Shot, Songfic, twenty one pilots - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 11:26:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5538104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canonjohnlock/pseuds/canonjohnlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I have these thoughts<br/>So often I ought<br/>To replace that slot<br/>With what I once bought<br/>'Cause somebody stole<br/>My car radio<br/>And now I just sit in silence</p>
            </blockquote>





	car radio

Dan sits down on the metal bench. It’s cold, frosted over from the recent snow. The train station is all but deserted, save for an old woman sitting about two benches away. The sky is grey still with impending snow, the wind howling and clouds blowing. He digs his phone out of his pocket, headphones still jammed into it. He untangles his headphones and slips them in, picking a random song from his playlist. The music crackles. Static overpowers the lyrics. Dan twists the cord, but cannot get the static to go away. 

He gives up and shoves the headphones and phone back into his coat pocket. The wind is picking up, biting at his nose and exposed fingertips. The cold of England is inescapable, even with layers of clothing separating you from the harsh air. Dan shivers and hunches his shoulders, willing his coat to swallow him up and keep him warm. His socks are wet and his feet squish in his shoes. 

Dan hears the telltale sound of a train screeching to a halt. It chugs to a stop and the old woman gets up and climbs on. The train remains at the station for a few minutes longer, soft yellow light pouring from the windows and spilling onto the snow covered ground. The train belches and picks up speed as it leaves the station and Dan is alone. 

Clouds cover the last rays of sunlight and the station is cast into a harsh gray light. Dan’s nose stings from the cold. He sniffs and looks around. His footprints, as well as the older woman’s, have been covered by the snow that had begun to fall. It’s almost as if Dan is a ghost. He chews his chapped lips, willing his train to arrive faster. 

The silence of the world around him is deafening. The wind has stopped and all Dan can hear is his own breath. He can feel his heart pounding in his ribs, his wrists, his neck. 

Dan looks at the tracks. He thinks of the old western movies he used to watch with his dad. He thinks of the damsel in distress splayed across the tracks, watching as a train approaches at an alarming speed. Dan had always wondered if it would be a quick death. If the cowboy didn’t get to her in time, would she feel pain? 

There’s more snow melting in Dan’s pants and he shifts uncomfortably, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. 

His heart is beating in his ears. Dan doesn’t realize he is standing until he is walking towards the tracks, toes hanging precariously over the edge. The tracks are covered in a light dusting of snow. The cold metal reflects the little sunlight leaking through the clouds. Dan holds his breath. His heart is pounding in his ears. The cold is stinging his nose and his socks are wet. 

Would the damsel feel pain? Dan hops down onto the tracks. 

A few minutes later, a train squeals, its whistle blowing. It slows to a stop, doors sliding open and then closing a few minutes later. It pulls away, smoke billowing from the chimney and disappearing into the clouds. 

There’s a pair of headphones on the tracks. They’re shattered now, the cord snapped and frayed. They’re soon covered by the heavily falling snow. 

On the last carriage of the train is a boy with dark hair and dark eyes. He leans his head against the window, ignoring the rattle of his brain in his skull. 

He wonders, if the damsel had to save herself, would she?


End file.
